Sufficiency
by Sakura Tsukikage
Summary: KotOR IIA conversation between Atton Rand and the Jedi Exile about life, the universe, and everything.


Disclaimer: The Flanneled One owns all. A complicated mixture of companies are responsible for KotOR I and II. I own pretty much nothing.

Author's Notes: I went with female Light Side Exile and male Light Side Revan in this fic, because that's canon. And I just went ahead and gave the Exile the name I used on my last play-through, for the sake of convenience. Also, I assumed a great deal of completion on the part of the player.

**Sufficiency**

"Ha. Twenty. I win." Inyriele Saar slid the last of her pazaak cards into place and grinned at the man sitting on the cockpit floor across from her.

"Yeah, you're on a roll today." He narrowed his eyes at her mock-suspiciously as he set about gathering his cards back into his side-deck. "You're not using any of your Jedi tricks on me, are you?"

Riele set about picking up her own cards. "Oh, don't be a nerf, Atton," she said. "I win just as often as you do. Besides, you'd feel it if I used the Force on you."

Atton Rand gave her half-hearted grin. "I don't know," he said. "I'm new at this Jedi thing, after all. You could be using some technique I've never even heard of."

Riele rolled her eyes. "Using the Force to cheat at cards seems like a waste of energy, don't you think?"

"How should I know how you Jedi set your priorities?" Atton retorted, and there was an undercurrent of bitterness in his voice that Riele hadn't been expecting. He finished with his cards and stood to resume his usual place in the pilot's seat.

Riele half-rose before he could reach it to grab his arm and drag him back down to the floor with her. He stumbled, startled dark eyes flashing down to meet hers, but he gave in without much of a fight. "Come on," she said. "Sit with me a little longer. The ship's on autopilot; it can fly itself for a couple of standard minutes."

Atton sank warily into a crouch. "Here?" he said. "On the floor? What, we gonna meditate or something?"

Riele shrugged and pulled him down fully into a sitting position without letting go of his arm. He tensed a little, then went willingly. "We could if you want," she said. "But that wasn't what I had in mind."

Atton took a deep breath and shifted so his back was against the wall, stretching his legs out in front of him and detaching his arm from her hold. "Maybe it'd be a good idea," he said. "Uh . . . not that I'm suggesting it. What did you have in mind, if you don't mind my asking?"

Instead of answering immediately, Riele scooted across the floor of the cockpit to duck under his arm and lean her head against his shoulder, resting her back against his side, before he had time to react or pull away. He froze, and she could feel his muscles tighten almost convulsively, but she stayed where she was. "Just talking," she said, keeping her tone light and conversational. "You know, about something other than the Force, your past or my past or being a Jedi. Just about . . . stuff."

Atton relaxed slightly, enough to allow his arm to settle hesitantly around her shoulders, though his body was still vibrating with tension. Riele was careful not to touch Atton's mind without his permission, not since that first time she'd half-accidentally invaded his thoughts, not that she would have gotten much from his carefully shielded emotions even if she had, but the language of his body—how he held himself, if he met her gaze or looked carefully past her, whether his hand was resting on his blaster or on his belt or hanging loosely at his side—usually gave away more than enough to make his thoughts or mood clear, at least to her. "Oh," he said. There was a pause, during which she soaked up the heat and solidity of his body behind hers and felt his breath stirring the hair on top of her head. "What kind of stuff?"

"Stuff stuff," Riele said, purposefully obtuse. He was warm, so warm, so different from the chill of space, the cold impersonality of the _Ebon Hawk_'s cool durasteel walls and systems that spoke of a previous owner who had left the ghostly imprint of his presence in the ship forever, one who would always overshadow her, one who she could still feel, in the navicomputer, in the control pylons, waiting around the corners in the dark. Atton was real and now, heat and life and Force, his presence tempered with darkness, yes, but then, so was she. How was it possible for her to feel so completely comfortable in the presence this killer, deserter, and all-around scoundrel? And she did, it was impossible to deny.

Perhaps it would have been impossible for her to feel fully at home with anyone who didn't understand the war, who hadn't felt what had happened at Malachor V. No matter what else, there was always the comfort that Atton at least knew what it felt like, to fall, not to darkness but to nothing, to be cut off and alone and drowning in the shame and pain of your past. "You know, your favorite drink. Why you favor BlasTech blasters. Do you like your new lightsaber's color. What's your favorite planet you've ever been to. How old you actually are. Why you hate droids so much."

"I don't hate them," Atton said, "I just don't like them."

"Semantics," Riele broke in with a smile.

"And I told you, because they break in the head, and all that matters to them are numbers and the way they're programmed, and because they run on computers that short out and break down, and because they pretend to be people when they aren't. You can't trust them. And I'm twenty-nine, I think, but who's keeping track? Zeltros, and, no, I'm not going to tell you why or describe what I did there, though I do have kinda a soft spot for Nar Shaddaa." Riele scowled and wrinkled her nose as she reached back to smack him in the chest and felt his amusement, his grin, from behind her. "What can I say? I like it there. The color's all right with me. I think they're calibrated tighter and I like the way sights focus. Juma juice. You?"

"Well," Riele said, leaning back more fully against his shoulder and encircling arm. "I don't hate droids; I like them, though I have to agree that there are some of them you can't trust. But that's true of all beings in general. I'm twenty-five. Dantooine, I think. It's the peacefulness in the Force there. Even after everything's that happened there it still has this kind of quiet stillness to it that's rare in this galaxy. My lightsaber isn't as new as yours, but if I didn't like the color I'd change it. I don't favor one make of blaster over another because I'd rather use my lightsaber or a vibroblade, but you already knew that. Lomin ale or Corellian brandy when I can afford it. Which is usually never. But blue milk's not bad."

"Blue _milk_?" Atton said in tones of deep incredulity.

"Yeah," Riele said lightly. "It's not half bad, really. You should try it sometime."

"I'd rather take a Bothan stunner to the head," Atton replied. "Didn't you have that stuff forced down your throat by the liter when you were a kid? 'Cause I sure did. I can't even stand to look at it these days."

Riele twisted around slightly to look back at him and got a sudden image of a child Atton, tousled coffeine-bean colored hair flopping into dark eyes that would have looked bigger in the narrow child's features set in the exact same look of incredulous disgust he was wearing now, and had to fight to swallow a chuckle. "The Jedi were more into health drinks, actually," she said as she settled back against his side. "You know, Altha protein shakes served warm at the breakfast table, that sort of thing."

"I should have known the Jedi would come up with something even worse," Atton said, and Riele did laugh that time.

"Do you have nothing but disdain for any beverage that doesn't contain alcohol?" she asked.

"Pretty much, yeah," Atton answered. There was a moment of easy silence before she felt him turn his head away and he said hesitantly," What was it like? Growing up as a Jedi, I mean?"

"I never knew any other way," Riele replied truthfully. She thought back to endless rounds of meditation classes, lightsaber and hand-to-hand combat training that left aches and bruises and scratches that always seemed to be replaced by new ones just as the old ones healed, the cacophony of meals in the dining hall with the other apprentices, honey and bread and milk for breakfast, Master Kavar braiding her hair for her when she'd been too little to do it herself—she could still remember with surprisingly vividness the feel of his hands, broad and rough and warm and absurdly tentative—late nights pouring over datapads with endless streams of dry information it was nearly impossible to see the usefulness of, the dizzying exhilaration the first time she purposefully reached out with the Force and felt the universe click into place like the last piece an Echani crystal puzzle-sculpture with a billion different facets spinning off into infinity, the soft warm sunlight of Dantooine as she lay on her back on a hillside and breathed in the sweet-fresh scent of new lavender-grass, herself in tears after Master Vrook yelled at her for slicing into the Enclave's main computer. Games of dare and tag with her fellow Jedi students, always led by a certain dark-haired boy with eyes like fire. Master Vash's bell-like laugh. Sobbing into her form-pillow one night because a sudden echoing longing for the family she'd never known and the life she might have led had come upon her without warning. The brilliant, mesmerizing smile of the boy who would one day take the name Revan, Lord of the Sith. "I had friends, but it was . . . it was lonely," she said suddenly, impulsively, and was startled by the stark sharpness of the truth she could hear in her own words. "I loved it there, but I always felt different." She almost bit the words back, but instead let them slip out, relaxing her hold on thoughts she'd kept to herself so long it felt like a dozen lifetimes even as she relaxed against the man behind her. "Maybe that was why I was so willing to follow Revan to war. Maybe I thought I could find a place there."

"Did you?" Atton asked. His voice was low and carefully noncommittal, the way it got when he really cared about the answer.

"Maybe," Riele replied. "I think so, though maybe it wasn't the one I wanted. But it led me to where I am now, who I am now, and I'd like to think I'll find my place in the galaxy through the journey I'm on now."

"I felt the same way," Atton said for a long time, surprising her. He hardly ever spoke about his past without being pushed to it. "Lost, searching for a reason I was still alive that I couldn't find. Why she'd bothered to sacrifice herself for me. I couldn't find an answer, and that just made it all worse. But I think I've found one now. A reason."

"You have?" Riele asked. She fixed her eyes on the vague blue shapes of hyperspace outside the cockpit's viewports. "What is that?"

"To stand between you and those who want to hurt you or corrupt you," Atton said after a moment. He took a deep, ragged breath that she could feel in her own chest. "To protect you. To save you." He gave a self-deprecating laugh, and she could feel him look away. "I know you don't really need me to do that, but I'd like to think that that's why you found me in that force-cage on Peragus. And it's a reason. More of one than I've had in a long time."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Riele said.

"Oh," Atton said, and he abruptly sounded desperately unhappy. He started to take his hand away from where it rested, a welcome weight curled around her shoulders.

"Of course I need you," Riele finished. She turned against him and looked up into his face, into dark eyes shadowed with misery and uncertainty. "I need you to stand at my back and protect me from things I don't even see coming. I need you to keep asking me why I do things so that I'll never forget my own reasons. I need you to remind me that people can be worthwhile, no matter how you meet them. Don't be an idiot, Atton. Why do you think I always take you along to cover my back planetside? It's not just because I like the way you look."

He smiled a little. "Though you do like the way I look, right?" He let out a small _oof_ as Riele elbowed him in the stomach, then he sobered. "Thank you," he said, and Riele could feel the melting warmth of his sincerity and gratitude through the Force as well as see it in his face. She bit the inside of her lip. It was an incredible gesture of trust from Atton to let her feel his emotions like that, open, unguarded, vulnerable.

"Any time," she said softly. "I trust you, Atton Rand, whether you like it or not. Even if that's not your real name."

He shook his head and dropped his eyes. "I've never met anyone like you," he said. "I . . . don't know how to react to you."

She smiled back. "Good. Then we're even." She turned back, resting herself against his side again. Atton wasn't a particularly tall man, and her head fit easily against his shoulder. It felt surprisingly . . . snug, restful.

"Really?" he said. "Do you mean that in a good way, or . . . ."

"Good enough," Riele said. "I like you; I like spending time with you. Otherwise I'd be sitting with Mical or someone right now. But I'm not, am I?"

"No," Atton said slowly. "Are you sure about this? Is this all right? Why are you—"

"Because I want to," Riele replied. "You're warm, and comfortable, and I—I need to be close to someone right now, and I feel safe like this."

"You do?" Atton said, his voice plainly startled. "Really?"

"Will you stop questioning everything I say?" Riele said, but her tone was more affectionate than irritated. "Yes, really."

"Oh," Atton said softly. After a moment, he said, "Are you all right?"

"What," Riele asked, half-irritated, half-amused, "is it so hard to believe that anyone would want to spend time with you without playing pazaak?"

"A little," Atton admitted. "But I'll get used to it. I meant . . . you're trembling. Are you sure you're okay?"

Riele swallowed hard. Trust Atton to be perceptive enough to see her shaky façade of unconcern. When he felt like being perceptive rather than clueless he could be startlingly full of insight. "I—" she started, but she couldn't lie to him, not now. She drew her knees up close to her chest. "I've been thinking," she said. "About . . . well, about the Sith."

Atton's arm tightened around her shoulders again. "What about them?" he asked, and his voice was dark with something she couldn't place, until she belatedly realized it was protectiveness and concern.

"I—I don't know," Riele said. Her voice came out sounding weary, thready and wavering. She took a deep breath and tried to push away the waves of uncertainty that threatened to crash over her and drag her beneath their surface like a drowning kath hound in the surf or a helpless fighter caught too close to a shockwave blast. "I don't know as much as I thought I did, I suppose." She linked her arms around her knees and drew them even closer. "I never thought that he—Revan—would turn to the dark side, take a Sith name," she said. "I never dreamed that a creature that feeds on the Force itself with unstoppable hunger could exist. I never imagined that I had created a void in the Force in myself. I don't know anything about the Sith."

"You've done fine against them so far," Atton said.

"Yes," Riele allowed reluctantly, "but I—I fought the Mandalorians in the war, not the Jedi. I learned my lightsaber forms to fight against blasters and vibroblades; I never expected to use them against another lightsaber, not for real. I'm no duelist. I'm just a Jedi with a mind for how things fit together and a talent for convincing people of what I want them to believe and a gift for slicing who ended up a general. I'm not some great hero to stop the Sith and restore the Jedi in the galaxy single-handed like someone out of some historical holodrama. I'm not a Nomi Sunrider or even an Ulic Qel-Droma. I'm just Inyriele Saar, Jedi Exile. What heroism is there in that? I'm no one's savior."

"It's . . . it's more than that," Atton said. "You're more than that. Why else would we all follow you? I mean, just look at us! You were hope to Revan, if what that little trash compacter says is true. You're redemption to Visas. You're like Mical's favorite person. Bao-Dur is still loyal to you, years after the end of the war. The bounty hunter can see it in you, too. Even the droids follow you. And then there's me. I don't know if you can see it yourself, but there's something special about you, something that makes people want to follow you. You might not be a Revan or a Sunrider or a Qel-Droma, but maybe you don't have to be. These Sith are different, after all." He laughed a little. "I picked that much up from Kreia in between the constant 'fool's and 'imbeciles'. Maybe they need a different kind of Jedi to defeat them. And I think you can be that Jedi, I really do. Maybe it's even better that you don't know much about the Sith. You won't be constrained by what you expect. You'll react to them honestly, not out of reflexive terror ingrained by years of paranoia. Right?"

Riele stared off into the blue expanse of hyperspace and let Atton's words run through her mind. Maybe, she thought. Maybe he had a point. She still wasn't sure; she didn't know if she'd ever be sure, but maybe she didn't need the kind of rock-solid certainty that had carried her to war behind Revan, not about this. Maybe all she needed to know was that the Sith couldn't be allowed to win, that things couldn't be allowed to continue the way they were. And maybe stubborn determination on the edge of desperation and a ragtag group of Jedi and half-Jedi would be enough.

"Thanks, Atton," she said with a sigh. "I needed that."

His arm came around her tightly for a momentary half-hug. "Any time," he said. "I'll be here whenever you need me."

Riele's eyes suddenly felt tight, her throat unnaturally constricted.

"Turning over a new leaf?" she said. "You're reliable now?"

"I'm going to give it a try," Atton said. "I need to be . . . here, for you. I want to be. If you want me. If you need me."

Riele swallowed, and it hurt. "You'll stay with me, then?" she said. "You'll keep watching my back, right up until the end?"

"I will," Atton said. "For as long as you want. For longer, because it's not going to be the end. No matter what happens."

"The end of something," Riele muttered. "But maybe, just the beginning of something else." She turned on her side and rested her head on the pilot's shoulder and stayed there, listening to his breathing and thrumming of the ship as it traveled through hyperspace.

For now, this was enough.


End file.
